


Playing Hooky

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Drugs, M/M, Marijuana, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re so lost in his mouth that you’re taken by surprise when he leans back. He shifts onto you so he’s straddling your hips, and he takes a long, final drag on his joint before he leans back down for another kiss. You’re positive that it’s a bad idea to inhale any more, but you do anyway. If Karkat saw you right now, he’d reprimand you for letting Gamzee be a bad influence. You think things could definitely be worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Hooky

**Author's Note:**

> All characters depicted are written to be of age

“Gamzee?” you call, peeking into the baseball dugout. You can smell smoke, but he isn’t lazing around on the benches like you expected he’d be. You scan the baseball diamond, confused, until you hear movement and Gamzee presses his face against the chain-link fence on the other end of the dugout.

“If it ain’t my number one favorite motherfucker,” he says, and even though you can’t see his face, you can almost hear his smile. “Come on over, Tav.” You leave the dugout and walk around to join him. You find him sprawled on his back in the shadow of the building.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, sliding down the wall to sit next to him in the grass. “Lunch is almost over. You’re going to miss class, which, given how many times that happens on a regular basis, will probably get you into trouble...again…”

“Chill, bro,” he says. “Ain’t no motherfuckin’ use for algebra anyway. Shit like that’s meant not to be understood by no motherfuckers like me. Numbers are just like...what the fuck, you feel me?”

You laugh. “Uh, yeah, actually, I can agree about that.”

“Besides,” he says, “it’s a miraculous motherfuckin’ day. Look at those bitchtits clouds up there, all floating along and being puffy and shit. Who the fuck wants to be all staying inside and trying to make numbers make sense when there’s all these crazy motherfucking clouds to be looking at?” You follow his eyes to the clouds. Gamzee inhales a slow lungful of smoke and releases it up into the sky, and you watch it dissolve into the blue. You see what he means. It’s a nice, calm day, hot in the sun but cool in the shade of the dugout. The grass feels good under your palms. But you know nice days aren’t a good excuse to skip class.

“Uh, I appreciate your line of thinking, and I think your logic makes sense, but I’m still pretty sure that the teacher will disagree with you on that matter,” you say. You look down at him and brush some of his stringy hair out of his face. He gazes up at you with pink, serene eyes, probably just short of blitzed. You sigh. “Or, maybe it would be better for you to stay here, now that you smell like pot and look kind of like a huge stoner.”

“I always look like a huge motherfucking stoner, bro,” he says with an airy laugh. You try not to smile.

“I, uh, will refrain from commenting about that,” you say, and you begin to stand. “I guess, if you’re not going to come, I should go--”

You let out a small yelp as Gamzee gets his arms around you and pulls you off balance, hauling you across his body and into the grass next to him. Now you’re on your back and he’s spooning the side of your body, laying his head on your shoulder. He holds the joint at his hip, a safe distance away from you and your clothes. “I got a better idea,” he says, and the slight shift in his lazy smile isn’t lost on you.

“Uhhh...when you say ‘better,’ do you mean ‘better’ like how most people think of ‘better,’ or do you mean ‘better’ like how Gamzee thinks ‘better’ might mean?”

“What’s the motherfucking difference?”

“Well,” you say as he takes a long drag on his joint, “for instance, if the ‘better’ idea you have gets us both into trouble, I don’t think that--”

Your words catch as he leans up on his arm and cups your cheek in his hand. Smoke curls from his mouth, and he blows it into yours, lazy and careless. His eyes are lidded. His lips graze yours. “I mean  _ better _ , bro,” he says, and you didn’t think the smoke could go to your head that quick. Or maybe it’s not the smoke.

“Uh…” you say, gulping down the taste. “Okay. Maybe, for one day, it’s fine, and it is nice out, so…”

Gamzee grins and leans forward, petting his thumb over the peachfuzz hair around your temple as he brushes his lips against yours. The gentle contact is nice. He likes to really feel you when he’s buzzed, to ghost his lips over yours and give you fluttering kisses and run his tongue lazily over your bottom lip. It makes you notice how sensitive your lips are. He presses in a little deeper, a little fuller, capturing more of your mouth and running his tongue against yours, and you can taste the earthy bitterness of the pot. It makes you dizzy, but not in a bad way.

You’re so lost in his mouth that you’re taken by surprise when he leans back. He shifts onto you so he’s straddling your hips, and he takes a long, final drag on his joint before he leans back down for another kiss. You’re positive that it’s a bad idea to inhale any more, but you do anyway. If Karkat saw you right now, he’d reprimand you for letting Gamzee be a bad influence. You think things could definitely be worse.

“What’s on your mind, bro?” Gamzee says, laying across you like a lanky, bony blanket. He runs his fingers through your mohawk and kisses your nose.

“You, mostly,” you say, which is true, since he’s filling up your senses. He smells like facepaint and earth and smoke. And maybe like it’s been a few days since his last shower, but you’ve gotten used to that.

“Aw, bro, you’re fuckin’ adorable,” he says, planting a few kisses across your face. “What’s your opinion on getting up and intimate in the grass? You like to be all up in the grass, right, bro?”

“Uh,” you say, because you do like lying in the grass, but also the grass you’re lying on is next to the baseball dugout just out of sight of the school building. But you also definitely have a boner, and your brain is getting fuzzy on caring about things like being close to the school building. Nobody comes out here but Gamzee anyway. And if you’re being honest with yourself, the danger of doing anything promiscuous somewhere a little bit public, even if the threat of getting caught is realistically pretty low, makes a persuasive heat crawl up your neck. Being naughty on school grounds in the middle of the day seems like the kind of bold and brash sort of thing Rufio would do if he were real. Gamzee smiles like he knows what you’re thinking and tips your chin into another deep, slow kiss, and he presses his body down on you. He really is a pretty bad influence.

“You wanna drive the motherfucking clowncar on this shit, bro, or should I be about starting this shit up?” he asks.

“Do what you want,” you say, because that usually turns out well for you.

“You got it!” he says with a grin, and he sits up and flicks away the dead joint. You watch with interest as he shimmies down your body and pushes your shirt up to your ribs, exposing your soft belly and the button to your pants. His lidded eyes flicker up to yours for second, and he gets a little curl to his smile, like a smirk. He draws in a deep breath through his nose and, before you can stop him, he presses his mouth to your stomach and blows out a huge raspberry. You explode into laughter and try to curl up as he does it again. He plants another one on your sensitive side before sitting up again. 

“Just making sure you’re all paying attention,” he says with a wink, and you try to bite down your giggles. His fingers run across the waistband of your jeans and flip open the button. You lift your hips and help him pull your pants down your thighs. The open air settles against your hot, sensitive skin, and for a moment, you almost begin to think about what it means to be this exposed outside where you are. That thought dies when Gamzee’s cool hand wraps around your dick and gives it a languid pump. “How you feelin’, bro?” Gamzee asks.

“Good,” you say, rolling your hips for emphasis.

“Good,” Gamzee says, and he drops down to press his tongue against the head of your cock. You let out a small, surprised gasp. Gamzee chuckles and kicks back his legs to sprawl on his stomach in the grass, drawing himself up to your dick and getting comfy. He runs the tips of his fingers along your length and kisses your crown gently. His lips linger there, and his eyes flick up to yours. Despite the growing heat in your face, you grin. Your dick twitches against his lips. The corners of his mouth curl up and mirth sparkles in his eyes, and you do it again. He draws away from your dick with a laugh. 

“You’re all sorts of motherfucking precious,” he says.

“So are you,” you respond. You thread your fingers into his unruly hair. “You, uh...look really sexy, when you do that.”

“Yeah?” he says, a small gleam sneaking into his lidded eyes. He nuzzles back into your dick and draws his tongue slowly up the shaft, one hand settling at the base and the other dipping down to cup your balls. You lick your lips as he tilts your dick back to him and wraps his mouth around the tip, sucking gently and running his tongue over the slit. He moves your balls in his hand as he takes you in deeper, drawing his hand up your shaft to meet his lips. You tighten your grip on his hair and hum. He pulls back and goes in deep, his hands reaching what his mouth can’t, and your head falls back. The pace is slow and languid. Your hips twitch and shift, and your body grows warmer, and you feel relaxed, happy, safe. A purring moan bubbles to your lips. Gamzee’s mouth leaves your dick, but his tongue gives the head a playful lick.

“Bro,” he says, his smoke-worn voice even huskier than usual. You crack your eyes open and look at him.

“Hmm?” you reply.

“I wanna fuck you so motherfuckin’ bad,” he says. “You’re so fuckin’ cute, bro. You’re a motherfuckin’ miracle.” You love it when he says stuff like that the way he does. It makes you feel special. And very aroused. It brings a heat to your face that makes your thoughts a little less clear and your skin a little more sensitive.

“Okay,” you say, a little breathily. “Or, uh...should we…?”

“Got you covered, bro,” Gamzee says before you can complete your thought. He reaches into one of his many endless pockets and pulls out a small bottle of lubricant. You’re so surprised that some of the heat leaves your face.

“You, uh, carry that around with you?” you ask, not sure whether you should laugh or cringe.

“Sure as motherfuck do!” he says like he’s proud of himself. “I got all sorts of motherfuckin’ supplies stored up in these motherfuckers just in case.”

You think about that while he slides your pants off one of your legs, trying to imagine what ‘supplies’ means if it also includes lubricant. The sound of Gamzee’s zipper coming undone brings you back to your senses. He leans forward and brushes some kisses against your stomach as he coats himself in the lube, and you watch his hand slide up and down his dick, the hypersensitive heat crawling back to the surface of your skin. He dips down and sucks gently on the tip of your cock, and you gulp down a whine as you feel the first finger slip into you. His tongue teases you as another finger slides in. They move, messaging you open, coaxing you to relax. You settle back into the grass and get used to the sensation, melting with the heat of his mouth. “Okay, you can...you can go ahead now,” you say. His mouth leaves your cock. You lift your hips when you feel his hands under your knees, and you reach down to help guide him, holding yourself open for him. You feel him press against you. You groan as he slips through.

The lube helps a lot, but it always takes a second to get used to. He moves in a bit at a time, letting you get accustomed to the feeling. “Good?” he asks when you finally feel him bump flush against you.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You can feel sweat form where skin meets skin. You’re on fire, but the good kind that makes your body electric. Gamzee rocks his hips out and back in, slow, lazy, gentle, setting the kind of pace you feel like you could keep up for hours, drawing out the smallest pleasure. He moves a hand to your dick and strokes you in time, leans forward to touch as much of you as he can with as much of him as he can. You love the way his skin feels against yours, slick enough with sweat to just move. You can smell his hair. You lace your fingers into his curls and pull him up to kiss him, and he moans into your mouth, sending tiny bolts of electricity down your torso. “Mm, Gamzee,” you whisper into his ear when he kisses your jaw. You draw his shirt up and brush your thumb against his nipple. He bites down on your neck and rolls his hips into you harder, deeper, and he hits that spot in you that sends waves of sensation rolling through your body.

“Ah--!” you gasp, and he knows what it means. He picks up his pace, deepens his thrust, and you fall into the pleasure, whining and moaning and lifting your hips to meet him. The waves of sensation grow stronger, better, so fucking good, reaching like shockwaves into your limbs, and he bites and licks your neck, palms your dick, slides below to your balls, comes back up and whisks away your precum. Your words turn to sounds and nonsense, things like “Mm,” “Plea--,” “Fu--,” and “Uhn!” He nips up and down your neck, whispering to you how beautiful you are, how sexy, how good you feel, how much he loves you. You grip his shirt. You can feel it sneaking up on you. You tighten, pant, arch up into him, and he swallows your moan with a kiss as you come. You’re so tight, so hot, so  _ much _ , and he pumps hard into you, keeping you there for a second longer until he tightens and releases. You collapse back into the grass as he rocks out the end of his orgam. His eyes are almost closed, and his face is gorgeous. You watch him sleepily as he sits back and pulls out.

He caught most of your cum in his hand, and only a bit landed on your shirt. You examine it with a small frown. “Hey, Gamzee, what--”

“Got exactly what you motherfuckin’ need, bro,” Gamzee says, pulling out a huge wad of kleenex with his clean hand. He tosses a few fluttering sheets to you with a little success.

“Thanks,” you say, snorting back a laugh. You grab one and try to clean up the spot as Gamzee takes care of his sticky hands.

“Got a little bit on you, bro?” he asks.

“Uh...just a bit, but…”

“Well, motherfuck,” Gamzee says, leaning forward and pretending to study the spot. “It ain’t motherfucking good to go walking around no motherfucking schools with that shit all up on your motherfuckin’ clothes! Looks like we gotta get our asses home and get to be about cleaning our wicked selves.”

He glances up at you with a small quirk to his smile. You stifle a laugh. “Oh, but, uh, there’s only a few periods left of school,” you say playfully. “How will we have time to go home and come back?”

He sits back on his butt and strokes his chin. “Ain’t no way,” he finally says. “We’ll just have to come back some other motherfuckin’ day and get our learning on then.”

You think about it, trying to remind yourself that skipping class isn’t a good thing to do, but you can’t stop the smile from making your decision for you. He’s such a bad influence. “Okay,” you say. “But I’m gonna drive, because you’re high.”

“You got me there, bro!” he says with a laugh, and he helps you to your feet.


End file.
